Regret
by Solariaa
Summary: Chronologically the 2nd part of my 'Battolgical'. Merlin comes upon a reincarnation of Mordred in Paris during 1348. Can he forgive what Mordred had done in his past life? Or, will Merlin take revenge for Mordred's past betrayal even over 750 years later?


**A short Reincarnation fic, it's dark and dirty and full of nasty feelings.**

 **The idea is 'What if Merlin found Mordred had been reborn'. I expect he'd still be pretty pissed about the whole 'killed King Arthur' thing. Please note I say '750 years later' as Arthur was said to have ruled in the 500s to 600s, this takes place around 1350s thus 750-850 years later.**

 **Enjoy :3**

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Regret; it wasn't some new novel concept for Merlin, but he'd never imagined he'd ever regret something like this.

Paris in 1348 turned out to be a bad idea Merlin realized as he stuffed some of the strongest smelling herbs he could find into the beak of his mask. He had followed rumors and hearsay all the way to Paris despite the growing plague the hung over the land in hope of find Arthur.

In the end all Merlin found was Gwen, weak but untouched by the plague as she tried to look after the dying Elyan and Lancelot. Unwilling to once more fail his friends Merlin willingly used his magic before Gwen, burning all traces of the black death from them before sneaking the three of them away in the night.

That was all Merlin needed to know though.

For him it was Clockwork now. Find Gwen and the other would never be too far.

Somehow they always found each other, as if their souls still knew each other, still knew what they had all been through together. It would seem that this time they were to congregate in Paris in one of the _worst_ times to be in Paris.

Still, Merlin was immortal, the plague could never touch him and so long as he was careful with his magic Merlin could burn the plague from many people and save many lives, the mask was more to protect his nose than his health.

Draped in his own blue robes, and dawning the beak mask once more hiding his face Merlin slipped out and onto the filthy streets of Paris.

Touching the heads of children as his passed Merlin sent his magic through them, burn what traces of illness he could. Watching the young die was always hardest on him, and thus he always took extra care of the children.

Merlin refused to be employed as a Plague Doctor, such a job would mean he'd have to stay whether or not the rest of the knight showed up and that could not be allowed. No, Merlin worked as a general practitioner, and apart from the cost of herbs he charged only what a family could afford for his services if he charged at all.

Making his way through a more impoverished area the plague had taken a strong holding. The thick smell of death and rot weighing heavily air, would have made Merlin sick if not for his herb filled mask, he smelt very little beyond rosemary.

"Please, please! You must help, my boy!" A woman cried out, grabbing at Merlin with bony hands as he past by.

"He has the Black Death?" Merlin asked to the woman's frantic nodding. "Show me to him."

* * *

The place was small, two rooms, all of it old stone and build as one large piece with three other homes. Nothing was clean, everything was worn with age and mended a dozen times over, the second room was taken up by a single bed filled with a small sick boy, bundled in tattered sheets, who locked little more than 15, a scared well worn table, a blackened iron oven to heat the room, and two rotting old chairs. Lumpy candles lined shelves with trials of wax having melted and dried over many years.

Out of everything, Merlin never expected to find Mordred, so young, so weak, so overcome by the tainted Black disease in his veins. Eyes glassy with fever dreams they still lock with Merlin's and despite the mask, and fog of sickness Mordred recognizes him. Merlin could see it, the young boy's magic, burnt out, and through fever dreams of pasts lives were stuck on repeat until Mordred could no longer be sure of which Mordred he was, unsure of whether he was the 1st the the 41st.

' _Emrys'_

The name, little more than a whisper in his mind, weak and raw, and Mordred doesn't even notice the difference from speaking through minds or words.

' _Mordred,'_ Merlin replies, coming forward to look the boy over.

This traitor, to weak to fight back, at Merlin's tender mercies. For the sin of his crimes Merlin could easily kill the boy, let him die, torture his mind. Once his deed was done Merlin would only have to kill the boy and say the Mordred had merely succumb to the Plague.

The possibilities were so truly endless.

' _You mean to kill me don't you? I can see it.'_ Merlin was not surprised that Mordred could tell his thoughts, even burnt out as he was Mordred had always seemed better speaking and hearing through minds.

' _And you remember why I would want you dead don't you Mordred,_ _ **Ex-Knight**_ _of Camelot, of King Arthur.'_

' _I remember_.' Mordred admitted, though he need not. The way he spoke, so unlike someone of his age. It showed just how many life times Mordred remembered: all of them. ' _I made mistakes Merlin, I can see it now.'_ Mordred was reliving memories not his own through the fog of his fever.

The way such crimes were admitted enraged Merlin beyond all reason and in his rage he spent weeks, coming and going from the filthy two room apartment, keeping Mordred alive by means both magical and otherwise. But never allowing the boy to fully recover.

Nearly two months had past, Arthur was surely not in Paris, Merlin ought to move on, but he couldn't.

Not yet.

Not well Mordred yet lived.

* * *

A hand, little more than skin and bone, tangled itself in Merlin's blood red sleeve.

' _ **KILL ME!**_ _Please! Mercy Emrys let me die!'_

With a sharp tug Merlin broke contact with Mordred, the boy was so weak, to wracked in pain, he couldn't even speak mind to mind unless he touched Merlin.

Sick with himself, but unable to simply stop himself, Merlin kept the boy on the cusp between life and death. Dying yet unable to die. This was how Merlin drew out payment from the boy for the sins of his past life.

Removing his mask Merlin let in the putrid smell of death and decay. He sat heavily, head bowed, not wasting his magic to look young Merlin still felt older than he looked, and looking at the young Mordred, kept alive only by Merlin's need for vengeance crushed him with regret. It was become quite clear to Merlin that all of this was an exercise in futilely, pushing the punishment for crimes so long gone and past unto another, Merlin was sick with himself.

How he ever thought this a good idea?

How could he have done this? How had he let this happen?

With the back of his hand Merlin brushed damp hair from Mordred's brow and the boy flinched from him, expecting farther punishment for betrayals over 750 year old.

' _I should not have taken it this far, forgive Mordred,_ '

Such flimsy word, words would never be enough to undo what had been done, and so with his magic Merlin granted Mordred reprieve from the pain.

Locking his bony hand over Merlin's Mordred shuddered with relief. 'No matter what, e _verything I do, you have always thought the worst of me Merlin.'_

' _I have, it was never right of me to do so but I did.'_ The old warlock confessed.

' _Why?'_ Unable to properly apologize Merlin felt it his duty to at least explain himself, so he did. Telling Mordred of the prophecy, and Kilgharah, while it did not excuse his actions it did at least explain his understandable feelings of mistrust.

Beyond the open door, the street of Paris remained filthy, full of the sick, the dying, and the dead alike. But within the small damp room reeking of sickness, Merlin and Mordred came to an understanding of each other, one that might have saved both if it had been reached 750 years ago, if only they had tried sooner, but as it was, mind to mind the two magic users, bound by fate and prophecy, finally aired all grievances with each other. With each confession Mordred weakened, held to life only by Merlin's magic, and once all was said Mordred tried once more.

' _Let me die Emrys, I am too tired of this life. Only promise me, that should we meet again, don't be so quick to judge me.'_ The boy spoke, sounding years beyond his age.

' _I have held you to the past too long Mordred, I shall not do so again.'_

With a sigh of relief Mordred let his eyes slip shut and burrowed deeper into his bed. He looked strangely content dispirit the circumstances.

Slipping his beaked mask back on and standing Merlin left the two room home, and left Mordred to the warm embrace of death. Heart heavy with regret Merlin left Paris and pushed his new sin into the past behind. He had long ago accepted that dwelling on such failing never did one any good.

Throughout his long years Merlin regretted many things, many failings. He regretted the dozens of times he failed to save Arthur, Lancelot, Gwaine, Gwen, Gaius, Elyan, Percival, and Leon. He always felt like he failed to save them, whether from injury, sickness or even simple age, their deaths would always be failures in Merlin's eyes. He regretted failing Freya, and having ever let Mordred into Camelot, and he regretted never trying harder to help Morgana.

Now a new regret was to be added to his ever growing list; he regretted having taken revenge on Mordred, in 1348, Paris.

Mordred was not forgive, Mordred could never be forgiven for his part in Arthur's death. But Merlin forced himself to accept that the Mordred who had betrayed Camelot, betrayed Arthur, that that Mordred was long dead now, and taking out the punishment on the next would never help.

When they would next meet, Merlin would not hold Mordred at fault for the betrayal of lives long ago turned to legend.

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 **I actually felt a little bad writing this, but there you have it. It came about as a bit of back story for a much longer merlin piece so TADA! Now it's it's own story :3**

 **I'm hoping to work on the other Merlin between my other on going story, maybe it will be done my then, or at least half done, either way, that's all for this story , and as always till next time, ha det bra! :3**


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